This is my Idea of Fun
by SpellboundMuggle
Summary: If this woman thinks she's joining the case she's got another thing coming.


_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, I just enjoy pairing them up to annoy the hell out of each other.**_

**A/N: It's been a while since my last fanfiction, and I don't know why but these two really work for me x) I really hope everyone enjoys this and please let me know what you think :) Should I continue? Or just leave them stranded on this page? X**

**Chapter 1 - Good Evening, Sir.**

Sherlock Holmes sat impatiently at the hotel's bar. His disguise this evening was a masked with a pair of small, flimsy framed reading glasses he had acquired from 's kitchen drawer. The hotel was extremely elegant; chandeliers seemed to be cascade from every ceiling, the staircases twisting and bending into unknown corridors, even every napkin was coifed and frilled.

The very thought of those napkins reminded him of Mycroft's hankerchief that always folded on the left side of his jacket pocket. Suppressing a shudder he began tapping the ends of his shoes against the silver bar of his stool, mimicking what he had seen many a lonely man do.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as a nervous looking squat man bustled towards the front desk with a woman following in suit. Sherlock felt his eyebrows rising involuntarily, surely not?

The man took his room key and turned back to his acquaintance, simpering slightly in her wake as he did so. Sherlock allowed his head to move slightly as he took the woman in. She had long blonde hair that was cinched to the side in a professional manner, makeup framing her eyes, defining her cheeks and emphasising her lips. A thin red dress, held only by the bow that was wrapped around her neck, fitted her curves easily without revealing too much. Every step she took was precise and there was no falter in her stride.

Everything about her was absolute perfection to the average man.

'Excuse me sir.'

Sherlock's eyes rolled off her and focused on the bartender infront of him. Sherlock felt his mind ticking over this man; _34, left-handed, recently quit smoking. There was a slight stain of red on his jawline, lipstick, girlfriend back home. But the paranoid tapping on the counter top and ridiculously tight jeans suggested he had a secret lover… male._

'Guests need to purchase a beverage if they intend to reside in the bar area.'

Sherlock leaned his head into his left palm, 'You know, you look familiar, what's your name?'

The bartender raised his eyebrows slightly at Sherlock's sudden flirtatious behaviour and tapped his name tag twice, something he clearly did often due to the fingerprints all over it.

'Well Sebastian,' Sherlock continued, deliberately making his eyes drop well beyond the badge, what would you suggest?'

Sebastian's eyebrows dropped and clung to his narrowed brown eyes. Sherlock noted that this behaviour would not always get him a free drink. He straightened up and adjusted his glasses without a hint of embarrassment, 'I'll have a diet tonic and lime then.'

Sherlock waited, the clock ticked by slowly and he sipped his drink even slower. He did not need alcohol throwing off his investigation. It was not until he was down to the last drags of his drink that the stool moved next to him. Much to his surprise it was the blonde haired woman he had spotted before. Perfect. His hand relaxed around the glass, he knew his suspect would come descending down those spiral steps any moment looking for his girlfriend.

'I wouldn't use that card if I was you,' he announced, keeping his head fixed on the bottom of the staircase. A few moments passed; no-one came down the stairs and no-one replied to his comment. Carefully he looked sideways; the girl was twisting her hair around her finger and tapping the card relentlessly against the counter to get the barman's attention. Sherlock cleared his throat loudly and watched as she turned slowly to face him, her face already scrunched in confusion, posing the question without even saying it.

'I said, I wouldn't use that card if I were you,' Sherlock repeated, trying to keep his eye on both the staircase and her reaction.

'Well, you're not me,' She replied politely, 'So if you don't mind-'

'No I would not mind, but I certainly know the owner of that card would.'

'Yeah, well this card isn't mine mate, but nice try.'

'I wasn't attempting anything. Red card, one silver chip on the front, beginning with the number 512, signature written in black ink, although there are traces of blue underneath from the previous owner, which is not your overweight _lover _up those stairs.'

The woman's eyes dropped down to the card, she flipped it over and sure enough Sherlock's description fit. She squinted back up at him,

'You looked at it a second ago,' she accused, shielding the card from his view.

'Believe me, not all eyes follow you around the room.'

The girl looked as if she had been slapped in the face, 'how dare-'

'But would it make a difference if I told you the current owner is a serial killer.'

The girl immediately dropped the card, her face turned in horror and disbelief towards the staircase. Sherlock tracked her gaze and spotted the same bald, nervous man heading down the steps. As soon as the man's eyes fell on Sherlock he froze for a split second – then bolted. Sherlock kicked himself off the chair and ran as fast as he could after the man. He pushed his way through the throng of smartly dressed people, keeping a firm eye on the bald head disappearing through the revolving golden doors. Sherlock yelled loudly, alarming the group of people about to exit through the same doors, he barged through, tripping out into the cold night of London. The streets were busy with people dashing, loitering and casually strolling down the pathways; cabs, buses and cars were filling the roads and Sherlock knew he had lost him. His head whipped from right to left, placing himself in the man's shoes he felt the panic rising at the thought of being chased and instantly looked for the nearest alleyway, which fell to his right. Sherlock fought back a smirk and darted down through the alleyway, it twisted through the buildings, little corners merely turning to doorsteps, Sherlock's shoes squeaked as he turned the final corner into the dark alley. The man was standing, with his back facing him, glaring up in panic at the wall infront of him.

'Stanley Espitch, I believe?' Sherlock called to him, catching his breath and beginning a slow, easy walk towards him.

'S-S-Stay back!' Stanley gasped, whipping around. In his shaking hand he held a small black pistol which was pointed directly at Sherlock, 'O-Or i'll kill you too. Just like the rest of them!'

'Oh please Stanley, all this killing is destroying your health. Just look at how bad your nervous dispostion is coming,' Sherlock abruptly stomped his left foot against the ground, earning a squeak from the man. Sherlock folded his arms behind his back and continued his slow approach, 'This isn't you. You know that and I know that.' Stanley was now lowering the gun, 'All you have to do, is hand over the gun.'

The moment Sherlock uttered the word 'gun', Stanley's hand suddenly shot back up.

'NO!' A voice shrieked. Sherlock dropped into a ducking position almost instantly, but when he looked up Stanley was sprawled, unmoving on the concrete floor.

The woman from the bar before was standing over them both, clutching a frying pan that was still poised in mid-air.

'Excellent work!' Sherlock laughed, jumping to his feet, tossing his flimsy glasses on the floor, 'Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.' He said to her, before beginning his search of the body; _Gun, 2 bullets, 1 in the cartridge, the other in the wall behind him. Wallet, 10 stolen credit cards, 1 I.D of Stanley Espitch. 2 Children. Divorced. Suit bought new today..._

He turned back to the woman, 'And you?'

'Oh!' She kept the frying pan firmly in her hands, 'H-Han- I mean Belle.'

_Fake name. _Sherlock noted, she was either hiding something or worried for her own safety.

'And for the record,' she added loudly, interupting his thoughts, 'I am NOT his lover.'


End file.
